One More Fish in the Sea
by Hallows07
Summary: With the magic of Neverland declining, Peter has to go that extra mile to gain more. Meanwhile, Killian thinks he has found a way out of Neverland that does not require Pan's permission. Unknowing of Peter's situation, Captain Hook attempts to buy time for his escape. Seeking magic, Peter finds a potential tool to overcome Killian's confusing taunt. A girl gets caught between.
1. Chapter 1

**One More Fish in the Sea**

She huffed. Running her dusty hands through her oily hair, the young girl grimaced. Her fingers mingled with the brown locks. The girl cried out, brows furrowing as she tried to pull her hands free of the knots. Nose tingling, she scrunched her eyes closed. A sneeze forced itself free. "Goodness sake," she whined, "This is what I get for being bored… and not so social."

Rising to her feet, she muttered incoherently. The moulding floorboards howled. Spiders rushed from the light of the Apricot scented candle. "Ah!" the young girl yelled. Holding a hand to her heart, she glared at herself, "Honestly, shut up Melissa or you'll have the neighbours knocking!"

Melissa's reflection cheekily winked back at her, "Maybe they'd think you've got down and dirty for once."

Quietly chuckling, she swiped her oversized jumper sleeve across the mirror. Melissa stared into her own eyes. Blazing brown gleamed in the glow of the candlelight.

Sullenly, she taunted, "Like you'd ever be doing anything interesting on a Friday night."

Smile fully declined, Melissa stared at her gloomy reflection. "You're not like other students," she whispered hoarsely, "You're… something else."

She shrieked.

A rodent ran between her ankles. Melissa screamed horrendously, as the beast snapped at her black socked feet. "No!" she yelled, "No, no, no! Oh, please no – this cannot be happening!"

Blinded by panic, Melissa pushed a trunk from an ancient decaying desk and jumped atop the creaking furniture. A loud bang erupted, the thud overpowering Melissa's squeals as the trunk fell to the floor. The legs of the table quivered under her weight. She hastily kicked at the air, attempting to stabilise her body.

The mouse teetered back onto its hind legs and sneered up at her.

Snarling, Melissa gnashed her teeth. "Go away!" She shouted.

Squeaking, the mouse dashed beneath the table as she threw a rancour book at it. The book unbalanced three towered chests. They tumbled towards the table, towards her and Melissa reached out for the table's accompanying chair. Fearfully, she clasped the seat of the chair. The chests fell against the front legs of the table. The legs gave way. Melissa, though almost upon the chair, fell with the table.

Hollering, she rose to her feet hurriedly. The mouse could not be seen, or heard, but she feared that it was still there. Eyes focused on the floor, breathing heavily, Melissa trotted backwards. Her hands clutched the air behind herself. She gulped.

The mouse did not reappear. Melissa held her breath. As the seconds passed, she grew less anxious. Releasing her breath, she drew in another. Melissa stepped towards the crushed table. She could not spy the body of the beast between the books, trinkets and fallen chests. Broken clock faces gazed up at her with cracked hands. Shimmering shards of glass shifted, as she stepped closer, falling between the cobwebbed gaps of the floorboards. Melissa grabbed the table top with both hands, lifting slowly. Peering below, she could not see the mouse.

"Hello?" She senselessly ventured.

There was no reply. Shaking her head, Melissa raised the table top higher. Amongst archaic music sheets she discovered the body. Clumps of fur were carried away by browning blood. Melissa cringed, lips curling with disgust. "Ugh," she groaned, "I didn't come to the attic to clean something like that up. It can rot." The nakedness of the floor beneath the table revealed more precious, previously overlooked, items. Amongst the innards of the mouse in particular sat an intriguing letter opener. Reaching down, Melissa took up the blade.

She gasped. Blood seeped from her forefinger and thumb. A relieved sigh escaped her stressed lungs. Drops dripped. Her blood took longer to blemish the blade than that of the mouse. The little creature's guts were sprawled under the knife. She could see it better now, uncovered entirely from the table legs.

The letter opener was too large. "A short-sword of sorts… this place is crazy." Melissa exclaimed.

Despite the nervous twitch in her stomach, she quickly reached down for the knife. Gold seams lined the handle. Silver glazed the tip of the blade. "Wow." Melissa openly admired. Mouth wide, much like her eyes, and eyebrows raised high, she ogled the striking short-sword.

"You," she drawled with a broad grin, "Are coming with me."

* * *

A murmur disrupted the music. The ears of those around him were left uninterrupted. Peter stumbled over his notes. Under the pipes he could hear her.

Felix's gaze trailed away from the squawking youths. He watched, as Peter stepped back from the fire. "Are you okay?" Felix suspiciously queried.

Without sparing his friend a glance, Peter shortly commanded, "Get them to bed."

He left.

Felix stared after their leader, as he flitted on foot. Between bark and the dark, he observed Peter leave camp.

"What has happened?" Felix wondered aloud to himself, as the others flourished in the firelight.

* * *

Holding his hands to his ears, Peter tried to locate the being of the voice. His shadow was still away. There could be no girl in Neverland.

What had he been hearing?

A slither, a song, the tone grew thick with sleep. His own eyes drooping, Peter looked overhead. Above the canopy he could see stars. Gaze blurring, he closed his eyes. That sound. Breath that was not his own was drawn in and let out. He could hear her, as though she were by his very side. The tone of the voice earlier – it definitely had to be a girl. No boy he had ever known had a voice as high as that. His fingers twitched, brushing his blade blithely.

Eyes opening, he swiftly tore the blade from his waist. Peter stared. Encrusted with silver and gold, often forgotten in favor of his long-sword, Peter smiled at his short-sword. Carefully, he held the blade to his left ear. Ruffled hair lightly swaying in the tunneling breeze of the wood, Peter knelt by the roots of a large tree to listen.

There she was.

Through the glistening metal he could hear her.

She mumbled and moaned.

Peter pulled the knife away from his ear. He tightly held the handle. Licking his lips, he came close and spoke to the tip of the blade hopefully.

"What are you?"

Hastily holding the blade back to his ear, he intently listened.

He stood straight. Angrily, Peter kicked the tree. "What use is hearing her if she cannot do the same?" He irately expressed with a loud huff.

Looking back at the blade, Peter frowned. The wind carried with it the light of the moon. Metal shined, as expected, but along the edge of his short-sword was a foreign substance. He pilfered some with his forefinger. Holding it up to the starlight, he watched the fluid flow. The paste was sticky and iron to the taste. He cringed as his nose became as equally offended by liquid painted along his hand as his tongue.

"Blood," he supposed with a slight smile, "This is old magic."

Enthusiastically, Peter dragged the blade across the palm of his hand.

"Now girl," he confidently asserted, "Hear me."

* * *

Melissa rested in the abyss deeply. Covered wholly by her quilt, she seldom shifted.

Cars cried rarely in the street outside. Four o'clock approached. Her mobile phone stood on the side-table, charging. Through the quiet there came a voice that was not her own. His words penetrated her ears. Melissa did not wake, but Peter was comprehended somewhere within her mind.

"What are you?" He demanded.

Shifting a little, her lips parting, Melissa blissfully continued to sleep. Soundless words tickled her tongue, but no verbal reply was formed.

"Tell me!" Peter strongly insisted.

A sniff escaped her, as the cold air of her bedroom tickled the tip of her nose. Melissa's hands embraced the quilt more tautly. She shuffled again.

A sigh ran along her blade. Agitated, he announced, "I am Peter Pan." Furiously, he thundered into his short-sword, "Tell me your name. Acknowledge that you are able to hear me – I spilt blood for you girl!"

When she did not reply, he snarled, "I know you're there girl. I can hear you, as I know you can now hear me."

"Don't ignore me!" He ferociously roared.

Comfortable, sleeping more deeply as the night grew darker, Melissa dreamed. She softly sighed, "Peter…"

* * *

A victorious smirk smeared over his youthful visage, Peter crooned, "That sound… makes me dizzy."

He swung the sword down. Feet rustled the undergrowth behind him. Turning, Peter found Felix huddled by a tree a few feet away. Dangling by his waist from his hand, the sword shined. "The boys have retired." Felix confirmed. Boldly, he approached Peter.

Remaining still, Peter watched his friend cautiously.

Felix's eyes briskly absorbed the image before him. He shifted his weight from foot to foot uncomfortably.

"Neverland has been boring lately." Peter confessed, swivelling round on the tips of his toes. He looked back to the canopy, watching stars strike through space. Felix lowered his gaze to the forest floor, watching worms ooze from the soil.

Neither spoke for a moment and Felix's shoulders tensed incredibly, as a silence occupied the area.

Peter was unperturbed. He calmly tapped the knife against his thigh, hearing her breath echo as the blade shivered.

As Felix failed to comprehend her existence, Peter determined that others could not hear that which lay beyond the blade unless they bartered blood.

Raising the short-sword level to his dark pupils, he grinned. Peter wistfully proclaimed, "Fear not Felix. I foresee a great adventure ahead of us... filled with _magic_."

Peter returned to camp with his friend. Though he had full faith in his leader, Felix could not quench the tremble in his limbs. His spine shuddered, as Peter cradled the short-sword. Over time, they had lost magic. Peter thirsted for more, as someone would long for water in arid conditions.

The young boy would reap what magic he could find.

* * *

Sat atop a boulder, he delicately placed the short-sword aside. Peter took up his pipes and sang to the sleeping.

* * *

The crying dissipated above and around him. Her deep breaths soothed his soul. Peter played until the sun burned through the ceiling of leaves.

As she woke, Melissa heard a whir by her ear. Her hair slightly swayed in an impossible breeze. She was startled awake by the whisper of a spirited voice.

* * *

"I'll find you yet, girl." Peter declared, his tone becoming rigid, "You've got something I want."

* * *

Melissa brushed tangles from her eyesight. Lazily looking over at her phone, she contemplated reaching over to check the time. A bright beam broke through the glass of her bedroom window, violating the curtains entirely. Her eyes stung, but Melissa pushed the pain back in favour of rolling over onto her stomach. Sunlight effectively blocked from her eyes with her body, she stared again at the phone.

"Ugh, do I really have to?" Melissa asked herself croakily.

The contraption was fully charged. A black screen stared back, the shadows of herself and her furniture inhabiting the abyss. Heavily sighing, Melissa pushed herself up onto her hands on knees. She crawled along the bed toward the side-table and plucked the phone up. Cable parted from the aged machine, Melissa awoke the screen. It was early – extremely early. She whimpered and wailed.

"It's too early to be awake." She rested back down, "No one should be awake right now."

Despite having returned to the nest that held her wholeheartedly, Melissa could not sleep.

She crossly snorted, "What a bloody good start!"

* * *

Cautiously, he crossed the threshold of his cabin.

For the last twenty days the weather in Neverland had been overcast. He and his crew had not beheld the sight of Peter Pan, his shadow or his Lost Boys since that time so long before. Hook scraping his spyglass as he stripped it from his belt, the Captain unfurled the aged apparatus. With one eye he examined the sandy beach.

No boys ran round, tossing sand up into the air. No boys kicked shallow waves. Most importantly, no Peter Pan flew from the tree tops.

Pulling the spyglass away, the Captain settled his spine. If there was no sign of Peter Pan that morning they would be even less likely to see him on the afternoon.

Happily, he secured the spyglass back on his belt. He continued to watch the shore, humming lightly.

"Smee," he firmly called, "I think today might be our _lucky_ day!"

Turning, the Captain ordered, "Today we might just find a way ho-"

"Good morning Hook." Peter casually. He stood almost as tall, bright eyes scrutinising the Captain. Quickly looking behind the boy, Captain Hook sneered at his crew. They examined the pair from behind the mast, rigging, boxed goods and the staircase of the deck.

"Really now," Hook grunted, "I asked for dogs, not mice."

"Oh come along Hook, you can't blame them." Peter assured, swivelling round Hook on his tip toes. Unnecessarily, he jumped. Killian flinched back, pushing his hook slowly to meander the boy away. Peter's grin lowered. Lips curling into a snarl, he chortled. "You really need to brighten up Hook." He threw out his arms, nose to the sky with his eyes calmly closed. "It's such a beautiful day!" Peter exclaimed. He arms fell suddenly to his sides. Stepping up, ignoring the hook digging into his ribcage, Peter pouted, "I thought you'd have missed seeing me every day."

Killian recoiled, visage cringing and spine twisting as Peter prodded his stomach.

"Did you miss me?" Peter asked with a taunting smile upon his face.

Smee stuttered, "If you please sir," He took a step towards the two. Peter glared, but Killian grabbed Smee's shoulder and dragged him in front of his own body. "Err," Smee struggled, as Peter leered at the pirate captain behind him. "Surely, one day – like today, we could all maybe, just… get along for once. Do our own thing."

Peter laughed.

Killian leaned down to Smee's ear, as the entirety of the ships occupants watched the sniggering scoundrel. He whispered wondrously, "Did you actually expect that to have a significant, positive, impact on him?"

Idly, watching the young lad choke on his phlegm, Smee shook his head.

"Oh gosh," Peter finished, "I haven't laughed like that in a while Mr Smee!"

He patted the quivering fool on the shoulder before brushing him aside. "Now Hook," He began again, "I have a job for you."

"No." Killian blurted without prior thought.

Teeth gritted, fists clenched, Peter scowled up at the pirate captain. "Excuse me?" He ventured venomously, "I don't recall ever giving you an option Captain."

Awkwardly, brushing his hand through his scuffed hair, Killian morosely replied, "Right."

Smee nudged Hook, pointing at the boxed goods they had found in last few days. A bark bolted from his chest. "Right!" Hook chirped cheerfully, "Well I'm afraid we've been waiting for you."

Confused, Peter scouted the deck. None of the crew moved.

Killian coughed loudly gesturing to the crew.

Grumbling, he demanded, "What have you done?"

Peter scoffed, crossing his arms, "You'd be surprised what a few mermaid gems can achieve."

Killian heavily sighed. Smee timidly backed away from the pair, but halted as Hook focused on him. "You accepted them as well, didn't you?"

Guiltily, Smee silently nodded. His eyes focused on the sloshing seaweed on the deck boards under their feet, he nervously rung his hands together. "Treasure is treasure at the end of the day." He softly slurred. Murmurs of agreement rose from the crew.

"Aye," Killian granted, "But getting back to the real world is more important!"

Sneering at Peter, he marched towards his quivering crew. He roared, "Have you forgotten your priorities?"

Peter chuckled, "Now, now Hook," leaning against the side of the ship, he asserted, "That crocodile is your business, not theirs – not really." Teasingly, he tossed a spare gem from his pocket to the Captain. Catching it Killian glared. "You may have a crew Captain," Peter taunted, "But you're the loneliest man in Neverland."

"At least I'm a man." Killian sneered, "I've lived more than you ever will."

Furious, Peter rushed forward. He stopped, thinking quickly. "You weren't always lonely though," Teeth gleaming, Peter goaded, "There was a time you had someone wasn't there – that woman. That woman the crocodile cut through!"

Shouting, Killian relinquished his sword from its sheath. Held against the boy's neck, the blade shook violently in his hand. "You," Hook spat, "You're a Demon."

"Oh no," Peter expressed lowly with pride, "I'm much worse."

Members of the crew slinked away below, those require at their stations fumbling with the equipment. A few birds nesting between the boughs of the sails cawed.

Gradually, Killian drew the sword back. Peter's smooth breathing did not stammer. He stood calmly, contently, as Hook struggled to contain himself.

"As I said before," Killian boldly affirmed, "I've had far more adventures than you ever will." He circled the young boy, sword remaining in hand, "You're old," Peter glowered, "But being as young as you look, you've not experienced – nor could you ever hope to take advantage of the feel… the touch," Peter twitched, as Killian's hook stroked up his arm. "Of a woman completely enamoured." Killian dragged the hook down Peter's back. Bloody, the boy reached for his long-sword.

Swords clashing, the pair glared at one another. Breathing more heavily, as his shirt soaked up the leakage of his injury, Peter squabbled, "I could if I wanted to!"

Killian laughed gruffly, "You wouldn't know where to start. Your just a boy, lad. Accept it, I'm more expert in life than you – more knowledgeable and experienced."

Scraping Peter's sword teasingly, Killian continued, "You've never known a besotted young lady, and you never will Peter."

Gnashing his teeth together, Peter cried out, "I always get what I want! If you can then I can! I am better than you."

Pulling away from the Captain, Peter secured his sword at his waist. He crossed over to the side of the ship, looking out to the shore. Fingering the short-sword, Peter smiled.

"I already have!" he confidently confirmed.

Brows furrowed, Killian snorted with disbelief.

"I have!" Peter insisted, turning to gaze at the pirate.

Snickering, Killian re-sheathed his sword and motioned for Smee to follow him to his cabin. His boots thudded atop the deck, seaweed and water caught between the grooves of his soles.

"Hook!" Peter bayed zealously.

Shaking his head, Killian verbally supposed, "I'll believe it when I see it!"

Smee nervously skittered after his Captain, asking harshly, "What are you doing? You're going to drive the mad boy madder!"

Killian slammed the door behind them. He peered between the cloths that cloaked the cabin from eavesdropping eyes. Peter violently tore away from the ship.

"Did you really have to take the gems?" Killian asked, disappointed.

Smee sighed, "The crew voted on it, if that helps."

Giving him a look, Killian walked to his desk. The map was almost finished. Neverland was slayed out. Scrawls of the land and sea stared back at the two men.

"I need him muddled." Killian divulged.

Smee's tired eyes looked up from the map. Anxiously, he stared at his Captain. "Do you mean what I think you mean?" he asked.

Killian's lips lifted, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the cabin. "I may have found our way out of here."


	2. Chapter 2

**One More Fish in the Sea**

Peter cuffed his hands over his ears.

He could not concentrate.

She would not shut up.

Louder and louder the voice seemed to ooze from the blade like blood from a wound. He grunted, kicking out at a stray rock as he wandered through the forest.

"I can't even toy with Hook without having that incessant singing distract me." He complained. Her voice echoed through the wood, as though she was truly present and Peter hollered. He tore the blade from his side. Throwing the weapon, Peter scampered away. "I can't be dealing with this!" he shouted, "Unbelievable – I hate girls!"

Killian's earlier expression haunted his mind.

"No," the word flowed from between his parted lips like water downstream. Gulping, Peter tiptoed back toward the short-sword. He heavily exhaled, gruffly retrieving the weapon. "I need magic." He quietly admitted. Shoulders hunched over, his lips puckered and brows drawn downwards with misery, Peter certified, "I'll take her magic and then I'll parade her in front of him. That'll show Hook!"

Continuing on, he sneered, "When it's proven I'm more than he'll ever be I'll slaughter her for slaughtering my ears."

* * *

Melissa haphazardly threw the pillow case aside. As the cotton fabric flew against the wall, tumbling down to the cheap carpet, the whoosh that followed was submerged beneath violent waves. The music grew gaudier, as she leaned over to the side-table to turn the dial of her small stereo. Melissa sang along. She danced, screeched and tossed the bedding all morning.

"Come on!" Melissa called, attempting to fit the double bedded quilt sheet correctly. "Hate this part." She grunted, fumbling. Melissa sandwiched herself to the quilt, crawling lowly. She drew the sheet along with her and straightened the corners of the quilt within. Her breathing quickened, as she took in the enclosed air.

The music no longer kept her happy. The previously content blend of activity was gone and her mood darkened, as frustration overwhelmed her.

"Stupid thing." she whined, struggling to escape the encasement. Melissa huffed, gasping for oxygen. "Ugh, I hate laundry day!"

* * *

Peter gritted his teeth. Fists clenched steadfastly, feet thumping, he trooped through the woodland. Nestled nettles and ferns crumpled under his weight, as he went. His hands brushed branches from his view. Peter snarled, hearing the girl squawk. The birds above him joined her merrily, as the sun rose higher. The mountains looming over the forest gave birth to thunderous clouds. Peter gnashed his teeth, as his head began to bang.

"What a bothersome witch." He droned, glowering at the undergrowth his feet trampled.

Taking a deep breath, Peter stopped. He closed his sky-like eyes, counting. "Soon I'll have that magic," he reassured, "I'll have magic, I'll best Hook and then I'll give that girl a reason to scream." Grinning, canines sparkling in the flitting sunlight that seeped between the upper canopy, Peter lowly certified, "I'll cut out her voice box."

* * *

She trod on another weed, cursing. Dress smeared with dirt, the woman pulled a thistle from the fraying hem. Scurrying with bare feet, hoping to remain silent and unseen, she swiftly moved through the vegetation. Trees yanked at her hair. Swearing, she tugged at twigs. Leaves swam in her blond tresses. She pushed away from the bark and fell into scrub. As she rose to her fatigued feet, she halted steadfastly.

"Hello Tinkerbell," Peter assertively addressed, "You're going to do something for me."

The wingless fairy feverishly nodded, lips quivering.

* * *

_Whack!_

Killian stabbed the map.

His hook glinted in the gleam of the candlelight. Smee had closed the curtains, locked the cabin door and took up a broom. He sat opposite his Captain. They gazed over the rim of the metallic instrument. As though burning, the mountains of Neverland blazed white and yellow on the chart. Smee gaped at the petrifying peaks. He swiftly looked up to find Killian smirking.

"Really?" Smee asked, anxiously licking his parched lips.

Throat dry, he choked and coughed, as Killian ardently replied, "Aye!"

Smee gawped, mouth opening and closing rapidly. The chair under his large backside creaked, as he motioned ferociously at the map. Killian ignored him, staring at the intended road.

"Why?" Smee boisterously demanded.

Killian spared him a tentative look, saying, "That last job we were sent on, before Peter left us to our own devices for a while."

Smee glanced away, attempting to recall the occasion. He murmured, "The Indian camp."

Killian nodded, continuing, "He sent us for that sceptre," Fiddling with his keychain, Killian fingered a particularly small and rusted key. He unlocked one of his desk draws and recovered a box from the dark depths. "When I was there I found something else."

Smee nervously chewed on his bottom lip, the spiky hairs of his beard prodding his gums uncomfortably.

Killian told him, as he searched through his set for another, larger key, "Peter was so enamoured by the magical relic he didn't realise that I'd taken it – taken anything really."

"You think it wise," Smee harshly tested, "He'll notice at some point!"

"No, he won't." Hook assured, "The boy is as obsessed with magic as we pirates are with treasure."

Holding the box to his ear, Killian slithered the key round and listened lazily for a _clink_.

"If he didn't notice then," He uttered, "The boy never will."

Smee chuckled, "Ha, ha, it's like you said then, isn't it?" Rowdily, Smee nudged Hook's arm with a humorous grin, "You'll always end up besting the boy, because you've done so much more that you're generally just better."

Killian sneered, as the box refused to open. He pulled and twisted the key. "Peter pan," he smugly declared, "Is just a boy. A boy cannot best a man."

"Aye, Captain." Smee happily agreed. Settling, he asked, "What is it then? That thing you've found."

As a familiar _clunk_ chirped from the box, Killian broadly beamed, "A plaque."

Smee's smile diminished.

Rolling his eyes, Killian clarified, "An Indian plaque."

Grunting, he gestured to the box. The pair stared wide eyed. Hook opened the small chest. A colourful tablet lay within. Earthly toned edges, cracked crevasses and browned blood overwhelmed the true paint.

"What does it do?" Smee asked.

Killian grinned, stroking the sharp fractures, "It shows us the way out."

"The way out of Neverland." Smee inquired distrustfully.

"Yes," Killian certified. As Smee doubtfully prodded the imprisoned plaque, Hook expanded, "Well it isn't magical. If it was the boy would have had at it, but it's not – so Peter won't be looking for it."

"Hopefully," Smee contended.

"Oh come on, the boys had at every magical instrument in Neverland already." Hook removed the tablet from the box and laid it upon the table. He grabbed some chalk and began to mark down sights that the map and plaque shared in common. Killian mumbled, "There's nothing left for him to want now. He's got all of them."

"Why though?"

"I don't know, nor do I particularly care. The devil can do as he wants. It's his island… I just want off it. Don't you?"

"Aye Captain!"

"Aye, then we'll set course for the wood, the mountains and the sky."

"The sky sir?"

"Well yes, you see the plaque says so – the sky."

"Right… I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Smee said uncertainly.

"Yeah." Killian replied less fervently than before, as his first mate's doubt seeped through his skin.

* * *

Turtle clung to Peter's ankle. Peach and Gabe tugged at his shirt. "Come on Peter," his Lost Boys cried, "Why can't you stay?"

Felix grimaced, as Peter kicked Turtle away. "Now boys," he told them firmly, "I won't be gone long. My shadow has been gone for a while now, so I've got to go get it."

Groaning, the boys relented. They sat round the campfire. Peach tampered with the cobbles, attempting to light the goods from the night before. "We need to talk." Felix announced, watching Peter organise food for his trip.

Rolling his eyes, Peter waltzed into the treeline. He stared back through the thicket, waiting for Felix to join him. "You've been strange lately," Felix confronted, "Where were you earlier today?"

Peter sighed, running a hand through his hair. Avoiding Felix's stare, he teetered on his feet.

"The boys are getting uncomfortable Peter," Felix hissed. He stepped closer, but as Peter glowered Felix backed away and lightened his tone, "Scared and skittish."

A short chortle escaped him. Peter smirked, "Well I am frightening."

"Not to them," Felix stressed, "You're their leader. Where are you going, why?"

"You are not my keeper!" Peter howled, raising a fist.

Felix folded his own hands round Peter's clenched hand. He reassured, "No, I'm not – I'm your friend."

"I've found another magical artefact, but it's not here in Neverland. I'm going to get it." Peter explained, lowering his fist. He leaned down, nose against Felix's intimidatingly. His spectral eyes were wide with a huge hunger.

"Peter this has to stop!" Felix starkly insisted, "Neverland is full of magic – we don't need more."

"Yes we do!" "Understand, my friend, the magic of Neverland has been lessening or eons now." "Why did you think I was collecting those archaic relics? The Merman skull, the Indian sceptre and so on – I need them Felix… we need them."

"Neverland… is there anything I or the boys could do?"

"In time there will be," Peter replied. As the knowledge of their future surfaced, Peter sprang back from Felix. He avoided his friend's hard gaze, emphasising, "But not yet."

"We are friends Peter – comrades. In future please know that you can tell me things like this. Remember that I'll see whatever it is through to the end." Felix strongly ensured.

"Oh," Peter acknowledged with a haughty smirk, "I know you will."

Felix nodded slowly, eyes squinted with suspicion. Peter took up his provisions and walked deeper into the forest. Felix stepped back, turning to trail back to the camp. He mumbled to himself incoherently with a frown, attempting to string together Peter's actions. Halting, Felix laughed. He shook his head with disbelief, snarling, "Tinkerbell."

* * *

As he reached the shore, Peter scrambled with the collar of his tunic. The ocean air roared, forcing his eyes to squint against the salty spray. His hair puffed and clothes rumpled in the wind. From around his neck he removed a small vial. He fervently thundered.

* * *

Lights off, Melissa snuggled into the fresh bedding. She pushed the textbooks away, the pages crinkling as they fell off the bed. Ripping the bobble from her hair, Melissa lowered her pillows and re-lidded her pen. Her phone lit alight with another text. She heavily sighed, swiftly reading the content from her friend before bidding a short 'goodnight'. Chucking the pen to the floor, she rolled over. As Melissa drifted to sleep, wisps of her hair wafted. From the short-sword residing on the table top there was a rumble, "I'm coming to get your magic!"


End file.
